


Hold My Soul

by almostannette



Series: Annette's Gradence AU fics [8]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Warm Bodies (2013)
Genre: Character getting shot, First Kiss, Hospital, Human!Graves, M/M, Zombie!Credence, and it is LOVE, graves is bad at feelings, there's only one cure for the zombie virus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 07:43:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13313622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostannette/pseuds/almostannette
Summary: Warm Bodies!AUPercival Graves is trapped. He's the only human in a district the government has already given up to the zombies - usually a death sentence. However, C, a young zombie, offers him shelter. Can Graves trust him?





	Hold My Soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gothyringwald](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothyringwald/gifts).



> In this verse, the zombie virus progresses in stages, much like it does in the movie, but I chose not to incorporate the “boneys” because they creep me out. In the first stages of the sickness, the craving for human flesh, esp. brains, is strong, but a zombie can still survive eating “normal” food. They only become totally dependent on human flesh in the last stage of the sickness, in which they also completely lose their ability to communicate, form rational thoughts etc.
> 
> To prevent the disease from spreading any further, the government set up “special districts” and anyone infected with the zombie virus is transported there – the idea is that the zombies are all eventually going to starve if they do not get food. Around the “special districts”, there are dead zones – the armed forces are keeping an eye on these dead zones and, if need be, return any zombies that managed to escape to the “special districts”)
> 
> The title is from [My Body's A Zombie For You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2csLfBAGpPM) by the band Dead Man's Bones. 
> 
> Also, this fic is currently unbeta'd and I'm not a native speaker, so I apologize for any mistakes!

**Day 1**

It had been a routine mission, if you could even develop what you’d call a routine on this job. The department had gotten wind of an infected man who had not been delivered to the proper authorities, but had been kept hidden by his family instead. Picquery had sent a team to the suspected hiding place. Half of the team had carried the screaming and crying wife and children of the target to the trucks to be quarantined. Graves, Goldstein and Abernathy, on the other hand, had been tasked with delivering the infected man to the zombie districts.

The job was tough, and Graves would have never voluntarily signed up for it, if he was quite honest with himself, but nobody could have predicted the outbreak of that damn epidemic. Like Picquery used to say, their work was not glamorous or even particularly enjoyable, but it was necessary to keep the inhabitants of the city safe.

Everything had been going according to plan, when their vehicle was suddenly swarmed by zombies and they had had to scramble for their lives. Graves had been separated from the main group while he fought off two especially tenacious zombies, who were obviously in the last stages of the sickness already. When he’d finally managed to put bullets through each of their heads and got back to where their truck had been, he cursed. Goldstein and Abernathy had managed to deal with the zombies, alright, judging by the bodies that were strewn around the place where they’d parked the truck. Graves momentarily felt a pang of regret as he recognized today’s target among the fallen, before the severity of his situation came back to him.

The truck was gone, and Goldstein and Abernathy along with it.

In other words: He was completely screwed.

Suddenly, he heard movement and swirled around to identify the source of it. It was a young man, dark-haired and willowy. His skin had the unnatural pallor that was characteristic of the zombie virus.

The zombie raised his hands in the air, obviously terrified of the gun Graves had pointed towards his head. Before Graves knew what to make of the situation, the zombie was gesticulating for him to follow him. The young man could still communicate on the most rudimentary level, then, and had not yet lost his mind to the sickness. Judging by his inability to form words, Graves expected that it would not be long until the illness progressed to its last stage.

He knew he must not stay in the open, he was dead meat if he did, and so Graves decided to take his chances. He followed the zombie, fully aware that he could also be walking into a trap. It was a gamble, but he had one bullet left in his gun, and if the young zombie gave in to his instincts and turned on him, Graves would put that bullet right through the zombie’s brain.

**Day 2**

When C woke up, the man was still there. C had rescued him yesterday, and led him to his hiding place. The man was human, obviously uninfected and C had known that the man was going to die if he didn’t intervene.

C thought he remembered how it felt to be abandoned, although he couldn’t say _why_ he thought so. Still, he was certain that he couldn’t just leave the man there, without protection, until a new horde of zombies picked up on the smell of human flesh and decided to go hunting.

Why could he empathize so much with abandonment? He couldn’t even recall his own name, he only suspected it had started with a C, but he stubbornly clung to every remnant of his life before he had contracted the sickness. Even among people infected with the zombie virus, the outcasts of society, he managed to be a pariah.

Convincing the man to follow him had been a small miracle. While he was still able to think clearly and control the cravings that came with the sickness, he had lost his ability to communicate in more than monosyllabic grunts. It was both frustrating and embarrassing, especially when faced with his unlikely companion, who had no trouble at all speaking in full sentences.

Yesterday, the man had been staring at C with a suspicious expression and flinched whenever C tried to get closer to him. Now, though, his exhaustion had apparently gotten the better of him, since he was sleeping. In the dim light that fell in through the grimy windows of the church that was his hide-out, C could only make out a few contours of the man’s face. He could, however, tell that the stranger looked much more relaxed in his sleep than he did when he was awake.

Carefully, C inched closer to the man and catalogued his features. Even though his memories of his life before the infection were disappearing at an alarming rate, he was sure he would have found the man attractive then, too. C reached out to touch the man’s face, but in that moment, the stranger woke up and shoved C away.

“Stay the fuck away from me,” the man growled and retreated to the other end of the room. C wrapped his arms around his shins and whimpered.

 

**Day 3**

In a rather surprising move, the zombie had brought him food. Graves would have never accepted anything from the undead young man, but survival instincts had won out in the end. The food had been fine, even though it had been far from a balanced meal – a bag of chips and canned peaches. However, Graves could not afford to be picky, so he was not going to complain. It would be foolish to starve to death while he waited for a rescue party to arrive…and if one didn’t arrive soon, he was doomed either way.

As usual, the zombie had only been able to grunt, but had seemed very eager to get Graves to eat. The zombie had seemed almost elated when Graves had started to wolf down the food.

After he had finished eating, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hands. He locked eyes with the zombie cowering a few feet away from him. “Thank you for the food,” he said, slowly and clearly. “I…I really appreciate it.”

The zombie’s eyes widened. He smiled and nodded. Out of nowhere, Graves thought that the young man might have looked quite beautiful before he’d come down with the zombie virus, but he nipped that thought in the bud. Thinking about a zombie that way was just so _wrong_.

“You can understand what I’m saying?” Graves asked.

The zombie nodded again and produced some unintelligible grunts, before he shut his mouth again, flustered and embarrassed. He must have some degree of self-awareness left, Graves noted.

“Well, you can call me…you can think of me as Graves,” he said awkwardly.

The young man’s face lit up and he pointed a finger at his own chest. He mumbled something that sounded a lot like “see”.

“See? What should I see?”

The zombie shook his head and started to trace a shape in the air. Belatedly, Graves realized he was trying to write a letter.

“C?” he asked. “Is that your name?” The nod returned, more enthusiastically than before and Graves’s lips twitched into a lopsided grin. “Nice to meet you, C.”

 

**Day 5**

These last few days, C had always managed to find something edible for Graves, who had been grateful and went to great lengths to thank C for the food. Even though he couldn’t reply, C felt pleased with himself whenever Graves praised him for his efforts.

It was a bit frightening, having a human to compare himself to for the first time since he had contracted the virus. C had already lost so much of his humanity, when would the last shreds of it disappear, too?

He had a more pressing problem, though – the hunger pains were getting worse. He would need to eat soon and if he didn’t want to risk attacking Graves, he had to go out and hunt.

C was just thinking how to communicate this to Graves, when his stomach grumbled loud enough for the other man to look up. Graves had a concerned expression on his face.

“You’re hungry?” he asked cautiously, before he began to shuffle through his food supply and held out a banana to C. “You brought me so much food that I’ve got leftovers. Can you eat actual food or do you just…uh…eat brains?”

C shrugged helplessly. His illness had progressed to the stage in which his stomach could only support human flesh, but he didn’t want to snub Graves’ kind offer. He reached out and took the yellow fruit with a trembling hand. The tips of their fingers touched and they both flinched. C unwrapped the banana and took a tentative bite. It tasted sweet, not as vile as he remembered. Quickly, he devoured the banana.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, and only after a couple of seconds he realized that he’d spoken and managed to string two meaningful words together.

 

**Day 8**

Graves had been getting more and more nervous with each passing day until he couldn’t sleep anymore, for fear of missing the search party when it arrived. _If_ it arrived, he corrected himself.

C, the zombie who had assumed the role of his protector, had seemed sympathetic when he’d told him of his dilemma, but since the zombie could only ever answer in one or two words, all their conversations so far had been extremely one-sided.

Still, C continued to find enough food for them to survive and Graves began to wonder why zombies even attacked humans, if they could live on normal food as well. He’d asked his unlikely companion, but answering the question had been beyond his abilities.

Nevertheless, if C could survive without human flesh at this late stage of the illness, maybe the other zombies could, too? Perhaps it was like vegetarianism for humans, Graves mused. Then again, Graves had to acknowledge that C didn’t look as sick as he’d previously assumed, so maybe the illness had not yet progressed to its last stages. His skin was pale, yes, but he still looked almost healthy, nothing like the deathly pallor usually seen on other zombies, and while his speech was severely limited, he could still form simple words.

Graves knew he should not start to like C and value his company, because there was no known cure for the zombie virus. The last traces of C’s humanity were bound to disappear as the sickness continued to ravage his system.

C caught him staring out of the window at helicopters circling overhead, surveying the area. Some newly infected zombies had been brought in and the helicopters were there for surveillance reasons, to keep anyone from trying to get back into areas inhabited by humans. The zombie cautiously touched Graves’ shoulder. “Your friends?” he asked.

“No.” Graves shook his head in defeat. “I don’t think they’re coming.” They probably thought he was infected by now, driven mindlessly crazy by his raging hunger for human flesh. If they spotted him now, they might even shoot him on sight.

He explained all of this to C. The zombie clearly wanted to comfort him and perhaps it was his earnestness that broke Graves. Here was Graves, who had all but given up hope that anyone would come for him, that anyone even gave a _shit_ about what happened to him. And then there was C, who had been infected for God knew how long and was still so sweet and caring, trying to make the best out of his frankly horrible situation. C hadn’t given him any information regarding his age, and Graves wasn’t good at guessing, but he thought that C was at least 15 perhaps even 20 years younger than Graves. He could only hope the young man had led a fulfilling life before he had contracted the illness…

“They’re not coming,” Graves repeated dully. “They left me behind.”

“Oh,” C said, with a quivering voice. “I’m sorry.”

 

**Day 13**

Graves had become a regular figure in C’s life. They shared meals and spoke as much as they could. C was intent on relearning as much about the human world as he could and was pleasantly surprised to discover that his speaking abilities were getting better again. He was almost able to speak in full sentences again at this point, a development that had surprised them both.

After two weeks, C knew that Graves had given up hoping for a search party to show up and rescue him from the zombies. C was secretly grateful for that, because search parties were terrifying. If you didn’t manage to hide well enough, you would receive a bullet in the head.

Of course, he couldn’t just _abandon_ Graves. Zombies were dependent on eating human flesh at least semi-regularly and ever since the government had established the concentration zones, human flesh had become a rarity among the zombies. So far, Graves’ proximity to C masked his scent so other zombies would not be able to detect him from afar. Staying in C’s out-of-the-way hideout was the only way for them to survive.

What had they become now? Friends? Companions? Something else? C had been getting strange dreams lately, in which he and Graves were…he felt his face heat up and startled. Shouldn’t that be impossible? Everyone knew a zombie did not have a beating heart that could transport blood. So why was he blushing?

 

**Day 15**

“You think you’re…what?” Graves asked, shaking his head. What C had just told him was completely impossible. Healing from the zombie virus? It was unheard of. “Why would you think that?”

“First of all, I can speak again,” C said slowly. “I can also live off human food again.”

Now that Graves thought back, it had looked like C was getting better. Shouldn’t have the opposite been true? Should he not have been getting _worse_?

“Still,” Graves countered, so they wouldn’t get their hopes up in vain. “It might just be a respite, before the virus moves on to the last stage. We don’t know that yet.”

C’s face fell for a moment, before he squared his shoulders and eyed Graves with a determined expression. Not for the first time Graves wondered what he would have done if he had met C under different circumstances. Even in death, C was beautiful, with his wild curls and long, graceful limbs…

C inhaled and took off his jacket. Graves eyes widened incredulously as the young zombie unbuttoned his shirt. For a moment, he was perplexed, but C took hold of Graves right hand and looked at him with a pleading expression. “I was dead,” he said with a thick voice. “But now…,” he trailed off and guided Graves’ hand inside his shirt, until Graves’ palm was touching C’s chest.

Graves’ first reaction was surprise. C’s skin was surprisingly soft and so warm to the touch, much warmer than a dead zombie’s skin had any right to be. He almost flushed as he realized what a position they were currently in and tried to pull his hand away, but C pulled it back.

“Can you feel it?” C whispered excitedly.

It took Graves a few moments to understand what he meant. Underneath it all, underneath the warm skin and C’s all too prominent ribs, Graves could feel the fluttering of a quickening heartbeat.

C’s heartbeat.

“What the…?” Graves broke off. “How can you even…? This is…,” he stammered.

“I don’t know,” C replied. “I don’t know how it happened.”

Graves remembered that he was still touching C’s bare chest and let go of him. This time, C made no attempt to hinder him doing so. “You’re getting better, then,” he summarized and swallowed. “C, I think you’re actually starting to heal.” This might have been the understatement of the century – Graves had just felt the heartbeat of a _zombie_. This should have been impossible.

After Graves had pulled his hand back, C had looked oddly forlorn for a moment, but quickly regained his countenance and buttoned his shirt back up. Although he was ashamed to admit it, Graves had sneaked more than one furtive glance at Credence’s upper body and realized that he liked what he’d seen.

C licked his lips. “I-if a search party arrives,” he began cautiously and gave him a hopeful look. “Could you convince them to take me with you?”

“Technically, yes,” he said. “However, I already told you, I don’t think a search party _is_ going to arrive.”

C’s breath hitched and he clenched his fists. “Why not? Why aren’t you going to get rescued?” he protested. “They can’t just leave you behind!”

“C?” he asked.

The fight left C as quickly as it had come and he slumped forward. As he lifted his head to look at Graves, his eyes had started to glisten. “But that means that…that…,” he broke off. Fat tears started rolling down C’s cheeks.

Graves moved closer to the boy. “Come on, C, don’t cry,” he mumbled. “What’s wrong?”

C didn’t answer, instead, he let out a desperate sob and leaned against Graves’ chest. Graves felt out of place as he put his arms around him and held the shivering, sniffling C. Of course, C was right to feel upset. Graves was a human and, for whatever reason, C started to heal now – as two humans among zombies, they needed to get out or they were bound to die.

 

**Day 18**

C’s miraculous healing put them under pressure. Their ruse of hiding Graves had only worked while C was a zombie, but now that his scent was becoming more and more human again each day, it was only a question of time until they would both be attacked by zombies.

They needed to get out, that much was clear. The two of them had spent the last few days thinking about possible ways they could escape.

It wouldn’t be too hard to make it out of the zombie district, not when Graves knew exactly how to get through the security barriers, having passed them countless times while he was at work.

No, the real trouble lay ahead, in the dead zone surrounding the area still populated by healthy humans. If they were particularly unlucky, they’d be killed by patrols who tended to shoot first and asked questions later.

“We could carry a white flag?” C suggested. “And tell them we’re not escaping, but seeking refuge?”

“They might shoot us anyway,” Graves pointed out and squeezed C’s hand.

C’s face took on a grim expression. “If we stay here, we’re just going to get infected again, or worse, eaten,” he said. “If we try to escape, we’ll at least have a chance of survival, however small it might be.”

Graves nodded and pulled C closer to him. Graves would do everything in his power do defend C, be it from zombies or humans. They had taken to sleeping cuddled together at night, although neither of them had acknowledged it, yet. Desperate times made for strange relationships, but if they made it out alive, perhaps he’d ask C out for coffee, perhaps even dinner. That was, if the scientists didn’t get to him first. Someone who’d been miraculously cured of the zombie virus? Unheard of. C was nothing if not a medical curiosity. For C’s safety, it would be necessary to lie.

Graves would do _anything_ to keep C safe.

 

**Day 22**

Whenever C went out to forage now, other zombies were getting restless near him. Graves had made him take the gun with him as a means of safety. C had taken it, reluctantly.

“I don’t know…,” C had mumbled.

“I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you,” Graves had said and begged him to take it.

C had blinked once or twice, confused, and it looked like the ex-zombie wanted to say something, but couldn’t bring himself to form the words. In the end, he took the gun.

Over the course of the last few days, they had packed up everything they thought might be useful to them on their journey. Graves faced the future with a grim sort of determination, or at least tried to come across that way, when C was around. In truth, he was scared, but panicking wouldn’t help them.

C adjusted a strap on his bag. “We’ll leave tonight, then,” he said.

Graves’ heart ached for the young man. If he himself died, trying to get to safety, so be it, but if anything happened to C…he would never forgive himself.

The boy picked up on his agitation and shifted closer to him. He took Graves’ hands in his and squeezed them. Graves dropped his gaze to their entwined fingers and, for some inexplicable reason, felt his heartrate speeding up.

“I wanted to tell you something,” C started and blushed bright red. “Just in case one of us doesn’t make it.”

For a moment, he thought about reassuring C, of telling him that they would both make it out of the journey alive, but he reconsidered. What was the use of telling lies? “What is it?” he asked.

C looked up and there was a strange, wild glint in his eyes, something Graves had never seen before in him. C let go of Graves’ hands, reached out and interlaced his fingers at the back of Graves’ neck. C leaned in and kissed him. His lips were chapped and his movements clumsy and unpracticed, but there was such a passion in C that it ignited something in Graves, awakened some primal need and so he gave in and kissed C back as though their life depended on it.

 

**Day 23**

They had set out a few hours ago and had already managed to get over the first fence. Presently, they were huddled together in an abandoned house in the supposed dead zone.

C was upset, but tried not to show it. An argument was the last thing they needed – they didn’t want to draw attention to themselves when they weren’t yet prepared for it.

Still, Graves could have shoved him away when C had made his move, could have told him to stop kissing him and never touch him again. Instead, Graves had kissed him back, even deepened the kiss by slipping his tongue into C’s mouth and a hand up his shirt. For a few minutes, he had hoped…

But then, Graves had come to his senses and had pulled away, shame clearly written across his face. He’d cleared his throat and had said something to the effect of “We need to get ready”.

C had bit back a sob, then. He didn’t remember much of his former life, only dim memories of harsh voices and pain as a belt buckle tore into his flesh came to mind. There was a very real chance that this had been his first kiss. It was just his luck to have chosen the worst possible moment.

Graves had offered to share body warmth with him again, as they had done a couple nights already, but C thought he’d rather die than to let himself be held by Graves, with the memory of the man’s mouth still hot on his lips, and act as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. No, C preferred to curl up alone in one corner of the room while Graves took the other.

“I reckon they’ll investigate with thermographic cameras first,” Graves began. “That means we’ll have a good chance of surviving, since our body temperature is too high to be that of a zombie.”

C made a fist with one hand and concentrated on the pain as his fingernails dug into the skin of his palm. “What are you planning to do once we’re out of the dead zone?” he asked. His voice almost didn’t shake.

“Get through all the medical check-ups and then…I don’t know,” Graves confessed. “And you?”

“I try not to think about it,” C said. He met Graves’ eyes for a split second before he looked away again. “Maybe I’ll try to find out my real name, find out if I have any family left. That might be nice, I think, meeting my family.” He thought for a few moments more, before he let out a bitter laugh. “That is, if I manage to make it through the medical check-ups without attracting any attention. If they find out I’ve been a zombie, they’ll probably lock me away in some government-sponsored lab.”

“I would never let them do that,” Graves countered with a sudden vehemence that surprised them both.

After the initial shock had subsided, C fixed Graves with a cold, hard glare. “Why would you even care about what happened to me?”

Graves opened his mouth, but closed it again without having said anything.

C snorted. “I see,” he said, and hoped he didn’t sound as bitter and heartbroken as he felt.

 

**Day 24**

They had gone over twenty-four hours without being discovered. Graves instincts had been right. Since zombies, slaves to their instincts, were known to take the path of least resistance, they would walk through the dead zone in plain sight, not even remotely bothering to conceal their tracks and thus making them easy targets. If C and Graves only kept to the more complicated routes, which were harder to maneuver, the risk of discovery was going to be exponentially lower.

C kept up with the quick pace Graves set without a problem, but the young man had become very quiet. They should talk about the kiss, Graves knew, but having a conversation during which emotions were bound to run high in the middle of the dead zone? It was a recipe for disaster. At worst, it could alert the authorities to their presence much earlier than they would have liked.

And anyway, what was there to talk about? Graves had been C’s only companion for over three weeks and had been witness to the young man’s recovery from his infection with the zombie virus. It was only natural, Graves mused, that C would start feeling some sort of attachment to Graves. They were in an extremely difficult situation, so far outside the realm of normal human experience, that impulsive actions, like C kissing him and Graves kissing him back, were almost to be expected. It didn’t have to mean anything in the real world…yes, and if Graves repeated that often enough, he might even start to believe it.

He should have been the responsible one in that moment and handled the situation in a mature and calm way.

He should have gently pushed C away and explained to him that now was not the right time for this, that they should wait until they were out of danger.

He should _not_ have kissed C back, even though he’d been dreaming about doing exactly that for several days before already.

 

**Day 26**

C heard it first and forgot about his misery for a moment. “Graves,” he hissed and grabbed the older man’s arm without thinking about it. “Listen!”

Graves stopped climbing over a barricade and paused to listen. His eyes widened and he pointed to one of the abandoned warehouses that were lining the street they were currently in. “Get in there!”

C let his hand drop to his side again as though it had been burned and hesitated. “I thought we wanted them to spot us?” he asked as the sound of the helicopter drew nearer.

“Not if they’re in a chopper,” Graves said and directed C into the warehouse. “They’d shoot and never even bother to ask questions. We need to run into a patrol. If we’re lucky, I’ll know some members on the team…”

C ceased to listen and bit back a remark about how there was no “we” to speak of, not as far as he was concerned. Since Graves seemed to be adamant about acting as though their kiss had never happened, C concluded that Graves was ashamed of what he’d done. He’d inferred that Graves had an important job, so being associated with someone like C, a former zombie, someone who didn’t know anything about their family, well, it was out of the question, wasn’t it?

Sometimes, C pondered whether getting infected again wasn’t preferable to his present situation. Then, at least, he would eventually forget about Graves, forget he’d ever known what it felt like to be held at night, to have someone smile at him like he hung the moon, to be kissed as though he were wanted, as though he were loved…

A whimper escaped him and C clasped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. Graves had heard him.

“C?” he asked. “It’s natural to feel scared, you know? But listen, the helicopter didn’t spot us. The noise is becoming quieter again, it’s receding.”

He could care less about the damned helicopter. “Leave me alone,” he managed and tried to glare at Graves. C suspected that he did not look threatening, but rather pathetic. Still, it had the desired effect. Graves retreated to another room of the building. Once he was out of earshot, C finally broke down, sobbing his heart out.

 

**Day 27**

“We’re so close to the inner ring, we’ll probably be spotted today,” Graves said as they ate their meager breakfast. “”C, if anything happens…,” he trailed off.

“Yes?” C asked cautiously. “What it is?” His face lit up for a moment and Graves was quite distracted. He’d almost forgotten how lovely C looked when he was happy and at ease. Lately, he’d been either glum or irritable. The trek through the dead zone had been nerve-wracking for both of them.

“I don’t think I ever thanked you for saving me, all those weeks ago,” Graves said. “So, thanks a lot. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”

C blinked, bewildered. “That’s it?” he asked with a decidedly hysterical undertone. “You don’t have anything else to say?”

Graves was taken aback. “What did you expect me to say?”

“You know what I mean,” C said. His eyes were nearly glowing and an angry blush stained his cheeks. “If you don’t remember it, you kissed me back! Did it really mean nothing to you? Nothing at all?”

Graves floundered. He didn’t expect C to have taken the issue to heart that much. He’d thought it was understood that they were going to talk about it once they were out of danger, before they did anything they might regret later. It seemed C had not shared his opinion and had been hurt much more than Graves could have imagined.

C interpreted his silence as a confirmation of his worst suspicions. “So, it didn’t mean anything to you?” he cried. “What was all that bullshit then, when you smiled at me, or when you held my hand? Or when we slept next to each other? You’re such a…”

“C, not now, please,” Graves said and tried to explain that being so loud was dangerous. Their plan had been to spot a patrol and cautiously approach them with a plea for help, not attract attention by having a heated argument about the complicated nature of their situation and their feelings for each other. “We’ll talk about it later, I promise.”

“No, we’ll talk about it _now_ ,” C insisted and stamped his foot. “I can’t believe you’d lead me on like that and then act like nothing happened! What am I meant to think, huh? How am I supposed to trust you?”

Graves wanted to respond, but he thought he’d heard the distant sound of a motor in their vicinity. Shit. A patrol was near.

“Please, calm down,” he said quietly. “C, please. We need to be quiet, there’s a patrol nearby.”

C huffed angrily. “And you think I’ll believe you?” he answered. “You’re only saying that to shut me up, aren’t you? Well, I won’t!” He went on and on, and while Graves tried his best to get a word in, C was on a tirade and he didn’t look like he was going to stop any time soon.

Graves swore under his breath and contemplated his options. He tried to lay a hand on C’s shoulder, touch had usually worked rather well to calm him down before, but now C shook his hand off immediately. “You think I’ll let you put your hands on me ever again?” he snarled.

Before he had time to feel hurt, a door was being kicked down in the building and Graves’ instincts kicked in. He looked around the room, there was nowhere they could take cover, except for a couple of old pieces of furniture.

“Over there!” Graves hissed and pointed to the furniture.

“What…?” C asked, confused, and completely forgot to continue his rant.

“Get behind the desk over there, we need to take cover,” he said and tried to drag C after him, but the young man was uncooperative.

“I don’t understand,” he said, but then he heard a couple of gunshots in the hallway and his eyes went wide. Only now he realized that they were in danger. “What…?!” he managed, but he didn’t have time to complete the sentence, because the voices and footsteps were rapidly coming closer.

Graves made one last, desperate attempt to drag C over to the desks, but he already knew that they didn’t have enough time anymore. In a split-second Graves made his decision and stepped in front of C, in the same moment the door was kicked in and C squeaked in horror.

Time slowed down.

In that moment, Graves knew with fatal clarity that he’d made a mistake. He should have told C to get down, should have perhaps dragged him over to the desks and cupboard in the corner, ignoring the young man’s vocal protests. Hell, at least he should have raised his hands or at least his voice to alert the patrol to the fact that it was him, Percival Graves, and that he needed help.

But C’s grief and anger had made him upset in turn and he had forgotten all the plans he’d had for when they’d come across a patrol.

He’d fucked up and now he would eventually let C down. If he could turn back the time, even if he couldn’t change anything, he’d tell C that he was so very, very sorry it had to end like this.

The bullet hit him in the shoulder and the pain momentarily shocked Graves. He was frozen and didn’t know what he was going to do. Wait for another bullet, one that this time would hit his head? He gritted his teeth, that wound would definitely need treatment.

Behind him, C howled like a wounded animal. “No!”, he cried. “No, Graves, please!”

With horror, Graves wondered if C might have been hit as well. He would never forgive himself if that were the case. He raised his other arm to try and put pressure on the wound, but he hissed and drew his hand back. It hurt too much.

“Percival?” said an incredulous voice. “Fuck, is that you?”

Graves looked up at hearing his given name spoken out loud for the first time in weeks. The leader of the patrol stepped into the room and Graves could get a look at his face.

“Theseus?” he groaned and clutched weakly at his shoulder. “What the…?” he broke off, not knowing how to end the sentence. The pain was driving him half-mad and he would need medical attention soon, otherwise…

“I’ll handle it,” Theseus said, quickly and efficiently taking charge of the situation and for once Graves was grateful for it. He tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. Theseus took hold of his radio and rapidly fired off various instructions to get them help.

Graves trusted Theseus to handle the situation. He turned around with difficulty and faced C, who stood frozen in shock, his hands clapped over his mouth. He had gone very, very pale, almost as pale as he’d been when he’d still been infected with the zombie virus.

**Day 29**

Graves slowly woke up, but couldn’t open his eyes yet. His eyelids felt glued shut. He tried wiggling his fingers and toes. He was slightly concerned as he noticed his left shoulder and arm were feeling completely numb.

With an immense effort, he managed to blink his eyes open. He needed a few moments to realize where he was – in the recovery room of a hospital. Almost immediately, a fair-haired nurse was at his side.

“What happened?” Graves croaked. “I don’t remember…”

The nurse didn’t reply to his question, instead he said, “Do you feel any pain?”

Graves thought for a moment. “No,” he answered, truthfully.

“Good,” the nurse replied and hooked an IV bag to the pole. Graves must have looked skeptical, because the nurse went on to explain that it was to minimize the risk of infection.

Graves nodded weakly, although he still didn’t understand how he’d even ended up here. “What happened?” he asked again.

“A bullet needed to be extracted from your shoulder after you’d been mistaken for a zombie,” the nurse explained. “At least that’s how I understand it.”

Graves closed his eyes again and took a long, deep breath. His memories slowly came back to him.

After finishing his call for assistance, Theseus had started to administer first aid, but what stood out most in his memories was C’s expression – so full of fear and distress. He’d tried to tell him that he shouldn’t be scared, of course he was going to make it. C’s incoherent sobs let him know that the young man didn’t believe him.

The pain had become worse and his memories hazier. Paramedics had arrived not long afterwards. Before they had loaded Graves into a helicopter, he had pleaded with Theseus to keep C safe, since the young man didn’t have anyone except Graves.

He’d even gripped C’s arm and had tried to form words, tried to confess that the kiss had in fact meant _everything_ to him, but he’d only managed to say “I’m sorry” before Theseus had led C away and signaled the paramedics to get Graves to a hospital.

What if C hadn’t managed to lie about his past? What if he had been taken prisoner? What if their fears of government-sponsored labs indeed turned out to be true, and C was already being experimented on? It would all be Graves’ fault.

“Do you know if C is alright?” he asked the nurse, but didn’t get an answer this time. His question was probably being written off as a case of drug-induced rambling.

“We can move you to your room soon,” the nurse told him.

Frustrated, Graves resigned himself to wait.

Once they’d moved him to a hospital room, Graves was just about to take advantage of the painkillers left in his system to doze off, when it was announced that he had a visitor.

Who could it be? Theseus, probably, to apologize for putting him in the hospital in the first place. Seraphina, perhaps, to grudgingly admit that he should not have been left behind.

The figure that stepped into the room wasn’t any of them. It took Graves a moment to realize who it was – C looked very different than when he’d last seen him. His hair had been properly washed and fell in soft curls around his face and he was wearing new, clean clothes.

“C,” Graves croaked.

“Credence,” C corrected him, his excitement barely contained. “My real name is Credence.”

“Oh?”

“Theseus helped me find out,” Credence explained. “He let me stay at the flat he shares with his brother.”

In the light of this revelation, Graves felt a bit stupid that he’d never told Credence his real name before. “Uh…my name is Percival,” he said and winced at how dumb that sounded. The medication was really messing with his mind.

“I _know_ ,” C giggled. “Theseus told me.”

“Of course he did,” Graves mumbled. “Look, I wanted to tell you something before they took you away, about the kiss. I meant it when I kissed you back, but…I was stupid. I thought the tension was running so high that you couldn’t be sure what you wanted and…I thought I was chivalrous when actually…”

“You were acting like a massive fool?” Credence suggested and raised one eyebrow.

“Yes,” Graves winced. “You know, I was planning to ask you out, provided we made it out alive, to see if we still have chemistry, then, but I guess you don’t want that anymore…”

Arms akimbo and with a pout, Credence countered, “Of course I want to go on a date with you.”

“You do?” Graves asked.

“Yes,” Credence replied with a wide smile. “Do you know when they are going to let you out of the hospital?”

“I’ve been told it’s a complicated fracture, I might be here for a while longer,” he said. “Unfortunately.”

Credence shrugged. “I’ll just have to visit you every day, then, until we can meet at a nicer place.”

The tension fell away from them and they could talk more naturally after that. Eventually, their conversation turned to the zombie virus and how Credence had been so inexplicably cured.

Credence smiled ruefully. “Perhaps I’m really just a medical curiosity,” he said.

“No,” Graves said. “You’re not a curiosity. If anything, you are a miracle, Credence.”

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this for the "Trick or Treat" - Challenge, but I was too ashamed to post it at the time. However, a medical emergency prevented me from writing the fic I wanted to write for the calendar, and so I am posting this fic instead.
> 
> If you liked the fic, I would be overjoyed if you let me know by leaving me a comment <3
> 
> Find me [@almost-annette](https://almost-annette.tumblr.com/)


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